Even the best fall down, sometimes
by solauzish
Summary: Sherlock's miserable and Cocaine makes everything 'better'... Sherlock/John
1. Chapter 1

Title: Even the best fall down, sometimes  
Summary: Sherlock injects himself with Cocaine...

Author's note: I'm thinking of making this into a three-shot where John finds out, etc. Tell me what you think.

* * *

Bored.

Alone.

Sherlock slips the needle into his arm. It pierces the skin and, for a moment, it hurts - _just for a moment_.

Then nothing hurts, nothing at all.

He feels euphoric. He's floating high, _so high_, and gravity can't bring him back to the ground.

Everything is so much clearer. His senses are sharper, keener, and everything in this moment _makes sense_.

He feels like he can do anything, anything at all.

"Sherlock?"

John's voice is floating in the air around him. It surrounds him - _suffocates _him.

He can see music and hear colour.

John's standing infront of him. He's speaking but Sherlock can't make sense of the words.

He's transfixed by John's lips - the colour, the shape, the _feel_...

Their lips collide and Sherlock feels like he's drowning in the perfection and brilliance of it all.

He's here, John's here, they're together...

His mind is screaming that this is _right_, this is what's meant to happen.

It has to be.

John's touch burns, like fire against his skin, but that doesn't stop Sherlock wanting it, needing it.

What follows is filled with passion and intensity.

Fire and ice.

Lust and belonging.

God, he's wanted this for so long.

It ends and they collapse beside each other, tired and out of breath.

Sherlock turns his head to face John and frowns when he finds no-one there. Just an empty space where he should be.

Nothing actually happened then, Sherlock deduces.

"Damn." He feels like he's falling,

Down, down, down...

He crashes back down to Earth and reality and it _hurts_. It _always_ hurts.

Sherlock hides all evidence of his drug use and waits for John to arrive back at the flat, which he does five minutes later.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" John asks, heading for the kettle.

Sherlock thinks back to burning kisses.

"I'm absolutely fine, John." He lies.

* * *

I'm open, you're closed. Where I follow, you'll go.  
I worry I won't see your face light up again.

Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
Out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find you and I collide.

- Collide, Howie Day.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Even the best fall down, sometimes  
Summary: Sherlock injects himself with Cocaine...

**2/3**

* * *

John doesn't remember ever being this angry before.

He can feel the dull ache of fire as it spreads through his veins, boiling hot and destructive.

His anger should be directed at Sherlock, and for the most part it is, but he can't help but feel he's also partly to blame.

He's a Doctor, for goodness sake, he should've recognised the signs of a drug user immediately.

Being Sherlock's _only _friend he should've noticed the depression the moment it struck.

John glares at the needle in the palm of his hand. He wishes he'd never found it, they're right when they say ignorance is bliss.

The door swings opens and Sherlock enters the flat talking rather animatedly about the latest case he's solved.

Sherlock's long, black coat fans out behind his svelte figure. It makes John think about superheroes and their cloaks.

But Sherlock is no hero.

"Would you like tea, John?" Sherlock offers.

"Wouldn't you prefer something a little stronger?" John asks, tone clipped and cold.

Sherlock frowns and turns on his heel to face John, "I'm afraid I don't quite understa-"

He pauses mid-sentence. His icy blue eyes have found the needle in John's hand.

Damn.

_Damn_.

"You don't understand," Sherlock says automatically.

It's such a dumb thing to say but he's desperate and his intelligent mind is failing him.

This shouldn't be happening at all. John wasn't meant to find that needle.

John laughs. He just _laughs_. "I think it's _you _that doesn't understand - why else would you risk your health - your _life _- for drugs?"

Sherlock runs his fingers through his unkempt hair. He doesn't know what to say.

"Why did you do it? Answer me!" John's voice is raised.

John stands up and strides across the room until he's standing just inches away from Sherlock.

Sherlock's breath hitches at the close proximity and he wets his lips absent-mindedly.

"I was _bored_. I needed something to do," Sherlock finally says and John shakes his head in disbelief.

"You know what? You can do what you want," the normally calm Doctor hisses. He thrusts his hand towards Sherlock, offering him the needle.

Sherlock ignores the offer and searches John's face helplessly. "Don't leave," he whispers.

"Why shouldn't I?" John sighs, retracting his hand.

Sherlock doesn't answer with words.

His lips collide with John's and this time it's real - not a dream or a hallucination.

He pulls away after a short moment and searches John's face again.

John's face remains blank and void of emotion.

"You can't have both," John says softly.

Once again he offers Sherlock the needle and this time Sherlock takes it.

"What if I need both?" Sherlock asks.

He watches as John walks to the door.

"I guess you'll just have to decide which you need more."

The words continue to ring in Sherlock's ears long after John leaves.

* * *

I'm quiet, you know, you make a first impression.  
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind.

Even the best fall down, sometimes, even the stars refuse to shine.  
Out of the back you fall in time, I somehow find you and I collide...

- Collide, Howie Day.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Even the best fall down, sometimes  
Summary: Sherlock injects himself with Cocaine...

Author's note: The final chapter of the three-shot for those people who asked. Please review!

**3/3**

* * *

It's been five days.

Five days since Sherlock kissed John for the first (and possibly the last) time. Five days since John left him here on his own. Bored.

Sherlock counts each hour mechanically.

He feels strangely numb - the Cocaine is finally taking effect and he's getting the desired result.

Sherlock _wants_ to be numb forever, it's better to feel numb than to feel sadness and despair.

Last time he injected Cocaine he felt utterly _euphoric_, this time there's nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Sherlock," John greets cheerily. His voice is as smooth as silk, like always.

"I missed you," Sherlock whispers sadly. He closes his eyes and lets his mind be soothed by the soft voice.

John smiles a beautiful, bitter-sweet smile. "You already know what you need to do."

Sherlock opens his eyes but John's gone, the hallucination is over.

* * *

It's been five days.

Five days since John found out about Sherlock's drug use. Five days since John left him with an ultimatum.

John counts each hour religiously.

Each hour is another hour in which Sherlock chooses drugs over him.

Each hour hurts and he can't stand it.

Harry tells him frequently that he should 'give up' and 'move on'. John knows better than to take advice from an alcoholic.

John never _tells_ her that, though.

Instead, he tells her that he's giving Sherlock just 'one more day' to come to him. He promises that after that he'll give up for good.

Sherlock doesn't come back.

John doesn't give up.

It's amazing how the words 'one more day' can later turn into _four_ days of waiting.

Waiting. Wishing. Hoping. _Praying_.

Doing anything that distracts him from the emotional, heart-wrenching pain of not being chosen.

He just wants Sherlock back.

* * *

It's been a month and Sherlock is almost _there_. He's drug-free and barely feels withdrawal at all now.

God it's been hard. All of it's been hard. He remembers the feeling of intense anxiety, paranoia and exhaustion all too well.

Asking Mycroft for help was difficult (and it had taken him several hours to pick up the phone) but worse than that was being unable to see John - not even a hallucination of him. For a whole month.

Sherlock feels normal again now, back to his old self, and for a lot of people it isn't a good thing.

His hand trembles as he raises it to knock on the door, his heart is hammering and his stomach clenches uncomfortably.

He's nervous and that deduction almost makes him smile - he's never felt nervous before. Or at least he hasn't felt _this_ nervous before.

Sherlock can hear voices coming from inside the house. A male voice and a female voice are talking but Sherlock can't make out the words.

The male voice grows louder as he approaches to answer the door.

_John's_ voice grows louder.

The name makes Sherlock's palms sweat even more.

* * *

It's been a month and John is struggling to get _there_. He's trying to follow Harry's advice and 'move on' but it doesn't seem to be working.

He can't move on from, or forget about, Sherlock Holmes no matter how hard he might try.

To tell the truth he isn't sure if he _wants _to move on.

Harry watches John pick absent-mindedly at his breakfast and sighs. "You should hate him."

"I can't hate him," John replies automatically.

He doesn't like referring to Sherlock as 'him' all the time but Harry made it an unspoken rule a long time ago to not to say _his _name in her house.

"I hate seeing you so miserable," Harry says sadly.

John opens his mouth to say something but a knock on the door gives him the perfect opportunity to escape.

He excuses himself from the kitchen and opens the door.

Sherlock is stood there with a nervous smile on his face.

Even though he's waited a month for this John feels the sudden urge to slam the door in Sherlock's face.

He tries to but Sherlock reaches a hand out to keep the door firmly open. John's plan is foiled.

"I missed you," Sherlock says sincerely, beautifully.

It takes all John's strength not to melt into his arms right then and there.

"You're clean then?" John's voice is a whisper.

The other man is moving closer to him with a predatory glint in his eyes that could put any lion to shame.

Sherlock caresses John's cheek with the tips of his fingers. John closes his eyes at the touch, surprised by how much he's missed it.

"I needed you more," is all Sherlock says before he claims John's lips with his own.

* * *

Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme.  
Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find you and I collide.

You finally find you and I collide.

- Collide, Howie Day.


End file.
